


Serenade For Strings

by faedreamer



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Dancing, Fluff, M/M, Schmoop, Sexual Tension, Stubborn!Harry, eggsy has Things To Say, right in the feels, romantic af, very requited love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-28 02:20:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5073643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faedreamer/pseuds/faedreamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In preparation for an upcoming mission, Eggsy needs to learn how to dance. And who better to teach him than Harry? The problem is, these two have been dancing around their feelings for as long as they’ve known each other and in an empty dance studio at 2 am, everything between them is about to come to a head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Serenade For Strings

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Tumblr user svfferign and a-gent-galahad who initialized the idea with talk of a dancing au and allowed me to take the idea and run with it. I hope you both enjoy it!
> 
> Also, this is the song/section they are dancing to: [Dvorak's Serenade For Strings](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OWjxVrJMSMA&index=1&list=FLJxQPRlMdJv0OIADGjjysqA) and I highly recommend anybody take a listen to give yourself an idea of the music setting the tone in this fic. Besides, it's freaking beautiful!

“There’s no way, ‘Arry. This is a waste of time…”

Harry gives the boy an affectionate smile, glancing up from the stereo against the wall. “Nonsense, you’ll be a natural. All that gymnast strength and flexibility? Dancing will be a walk in the park.”

Eggsy’s mouth is all turned down at the corners in that way it gets when he’s inwardly grumbling about something. Currently it’s probably him wishing some sort of ankle injury on Harry to avoid this task.

Harry finds the music he wants and a moment later the empty dance studio is filled with the delicate opening strains of his favorite piece. He watches for Eggsy’s reaction and, as hoped, the scowl on his face eases, head tilting with curiosity as he listens.

“Whassat?” he asks, turning to Harry.

“Dvorak’s Serenade for Strings, Opus 22, movement 2.”

Eggsy’s brows shoot up. “What the hell kinda name for a song is that? Sounds like a Fall Out Boy song title - longer than it’s got a right to be.”

Harry isn’t sure who or what a Fall Out Boy is, but he smiles nonetheless, approaching Eggsy. “Shush and listen to the music, Eggsy. Now, give me your hand.”

The young man eyes his outstretched hand warily and Harry tries very hard not to smile. Finally, Eggsy takes it, and Harry wouldn’t be exaggerating to say that there is a spark when they touch. It’s been that way from the beginning, something Harry has become quite adept at masking and ignoring - that is until he is alone, in the dark, and there are no barriers to keep everything he thinks and feels about Eggsy at bay.

“Wanna tell me how come you’ve got the key to a dance studio at 2 in the morning?” Eggsy’s tone is all sass and snark, but Harry doesn’t miss the way his breath hitches ever so slightly when he draws the boy closer, one hand settling on his waist.

“My neighbor, Natalie, owns this studio. She was happy to let me borrow it when I told her a special young man required private lessons.” In truth, she’d beamed at him and giggled with conspiratorial glee as she handed off the keys with a whispered _‘First class don’t start till 10 am...just in case you were wondering.’_

Eggsy’s cheeks tinge pink and he stares down at his feet. “Dunno why I gotta do this mission anyway...I’m sure Bors already knows how to freaking waltz. Take him.”

Harry smiles, finger under Eggsy’s chin to lift his gaze up. “No one would ever believe Bors in the cover we’ve built - former dance prodigy turned philanthropist? He’s built like a tank, Eggsy, while you…” He hesitates, unable to think of a way to describe Eggsy’s body that won’t give away just how much he appreciates every inch of him.

“Me what?” Of course Eggsy doesn’t give him the easy out. Harry should have expected as much.

He meets curious green eyes, biting back a sigh at how pretty they are. How open. Eggsy hides nothing, it seems, and it makes Harry feel the weight of all the things he does not tell the boy. “You are young and graceful and beautiful...you are what the people at the gala will expect.”

Eggsy doesn’t say anything in response, and Harry takes that as his acceptance that the mission needs him. So he firms his grip on Eggsy’s hand and at his waist, lifting his brows down at the boy. “Now, then...the trick is to trust your partner. Follow my lead, listen to my body, it will tell you what to do next.”

Eggsy’s cheeks go flushed again, and Harry realizes too late how suggestive dance instruction can seem. “Uh...that’s it? Ain’t there, like, rules and such?”

Harry nods. “There are, beats to count, timing to memorize...but I don’t think we have time for any of that. The gala is tomorrow night. Which…” he sighs. “Which is why Merlin suggested I go with you on this mission, not one of the others. Because we are...close. He thought you would be able to follow me more easily than, say, Gawain.”

If he were honest, he’d mention how Merlin told him quite bluntly that he hadn’t even considered any of the others because he and Eggsy’s chemistry is what he called ‘palpable’, which was precisely what was needed for their cover. It’s just another lie of omission that Harry tucks away in an effort to not cloud and confuse their already tangled relationship.

Eggsy hesitates just a moment, then nods, fingers closing over Harry’s hand, other on his shoulder. “Okay. So we just...what now?”

Harry smiles. “Now we dance. Follow me.”

He begins to move, and Eggsy tries to follow, his brows all knit together, eyes repeatedly darting down to his feet. It’s on the third instance of his toes being squashed under gaudy winged Adidas that Harry pauses.

Eggsy looks so crestfallen that it takes everything in Harry to not kiss him then and there. Instead, he brings his hands to Eggsy’s cheeks and tips his face up so their gazes meet. “Stop looking at your feet. You should keep your eyes on your partner. But for the moment…” He brushes one hand over Eggsy’s eyes. “Close them.”

Eggsy huffs out a sigh, wrinkling his nose. “How’m I gonna follow yer lead if I can’t see where yer goin’, ‘Arry?”

“Because you’ve done all of this a dozen times and never faltered.”

Eggsy’s lips turn down. “I ‘ave?”

“Of course. Every mission we’ve been on has been a dance and you, my dear boy, are my perfect partner.” Oh, that sounds far too intimate, but it’s too late to take it back now. “You know where I’ll be, Eggsy, know where I’m going and how I’m moving without ever seeing me. Don’t you?”

Before Eggsy can answer, Harry takes a light swing at the boy’s jaw, which Eggsy fluidly blocks, catching Harry’s fist in his hand. They both laugh and Eggsy’s fingers lace with Harry’s briefly before letting his hand go, eyes still closed.

“Okay, but that’s fightin’...it’s different.”

Harry shakes his head, claiming Eggsy’s hand again. “Nonsense. It’s precisely the same. Dance with me, Eggsy,” he murmurs and then begins to move, leading the young man in a slow, easy formation that, despite his protests, Eggsy follows almost perfectly after a few brief falters.

After a moment, Harry tries a 3 point turn which Eggsy follows him into beautifully, swinging them in a different direction across the dance floor. The music swells around them and Harry starts to forget this is a lesson for a mission, because Eggsy’s face is tipped up to his, his lashes heavy on his cheekbones, pink lips parted as Harry guides him around and around.

Like everything else he does, Eggsy is a natural, graceful and lovely, his body a work of art. Harry’s gaze wanders over his face in a way he normally wouldn’t allow, but Eggsy’s eyes are closed and for once he can look at him without hiding the roiling emotions inside him.

He is an utter fool. An utter fool so in love with his much too-young protege that Harry can hardly breathe with it.

He knows just how easily he could lead Eggsy into _that_ particular dance, as well. Which is precisely why he cannot. Eggsy trusts him implicitly, and not in a Kingsman way, with missions and intel and such. No, Eggsy trusts him with everything, his beautiful open heart, his clever thoughts, his memories of his father and his mother before things got bad. Harry treasures that more than anything in his entire, empty life. He will not risk the loss of the only thing that has ever mattered outside Kingsman.

So he tries his best to focus on the dance, on leading Eggsy in the way he always leads him - with the utmost care, because Eggsy has been his to protect since he was 5 years old and frankly, Harry hasn’t done such a good job. He’s doing his best to make up for that.

“There you are, do you feel that? The rhythm, the way we flow?”

Eggsy nods, eyes still closed, a smile curving his lips. “Yeah. Am I doing it right?”

Harry wants to kiss him so badly and assure him that he could never, ever do it wrong, but that’s not what Eggsy is talking about. “Perfectly, Eggsy.”

The music shifts to a slower, calmer movement, and Harry shifts their dance as well. He pulls Eggsy closer, bringing the boy’s hand up to cup the nape of Harry’s neck, his own free hand skimming down Eggsy’s side as they sway together, still spinning, bodies molded together in a way that is far too intimate but there is no other way to dance like this. It’s torture, but he wouldn’t give it up for anything.

But while Harry is able to ignore the intimacy, it becomes clear very quickly that Eggsy is not having as much luck in that area. His breathing has quickened, his fingers delicately playing with the hair at Harry’s nape. And then, just as the music begins to crest again, Eggsy leans in and lays his head against Harry’s chest. Eggsy isn’t exactly small, but he _is_ short, and Harry easily tucks his head under his chin, both arms sliding around him.

Their swaying no longer matches the increased tempo of the music, but Harry can’t seem to let go of him. He feels so good there in his arms, fluffy hair tickling his chin, fingers curled in Harry’s shirt at the base of his spine. Like he won’t let go, like even Harry couldn’t make him.

And all the while Eggsy hasn’t opened his eyes. Like this is all a spell that will break if he looks. Harry feels the same, and exhales softly, bending his head to brush a kiss to the soft curls that are free for the moment without product or a hat taming them. The tenderness that swells inside Harry is breathtaking, something he cannot recall ever having felt toward anyone before, lover or otherwise.

Eggsy’s face turns into his neck, where his top two buttons are undone and the boy nuzzles into the dip of his collarbone, sending a shudder through him. He knows Eggsy felt it, knows he also has to feel the hard length of him in his trousers, their bodies are pressed so close. Harry’s eyes close and they’re barely moving now, the song a crescendo of strings echoing in the empty room. He should move. He should stop.

But Eggsy’s mouth opens just then, the faintest soft, heated kiss pressed against his neck and Harry can’t move. He can’t breathe. Eggsy just stole the air from his lungs.

He sighs, rubbing his nose lightly into the soft fluff of Eggsy’s hair, the scent of him all fresh and of sunshine. Harry would have scoffed at anyone else saying someone smelled of _sunshine_ , and yet Eggsy does. He smells of sunshine, feels like home, probably tastes like forever. He makes Harry want things he hasn’t wanted in 55 years on this bloody planet, and he cannot have any of them.

It’s the cruelest sort of joke, honestly.

“I fear we’ve lost our rhythm,” he murmurs softly, lifting his head and clearing his throat.

Eggsy doesn’t let go, though, and Harry genuinely can’t bring himself to push him away. After a moment, Eggsy sighs, their feet no longer moving at all. “Or maybe we just found it.”  
His voice is quiet, barely audible over the music, but Harry hears. Of course he does. Because he thinks he could be in the center of Piccadilly Circus on a Saturday afternoon the week before Christmas and he could still hear Eggsy’s voice.

More than that, he hears the _want_ in Eggsy’s voice, something neither of them have dared to allow into the conversation before now. He’s no idiot, and neither is Eggsy. They dance around this feeling, these wants, these _needs_ , and it’s become almost habit. Except that you never really do get used to cutting your tongue out every day so you don’t ruin the best thing in your life. That never quite becomes habit, does it?

After a moment of silence, though, Harry doesn’t have to pull away, because Eggsy does that for him, his face flat, then a smile that doesn’t come close to reaching his eyes as he looks up at Harry.

“Anyway, though...think I’ve got it. Just follow you. I can do that.” His hands shove into his jeans and Harry’s heart aches because he knows they’re fisted, stuffed in there to keep himself from reaching out.

When really all Harry wants is to gather him up, hug him for about a week and then kiss him for another week more. Maybe by then he’ll be willing to let him go long enough to get clothes off and more intimate things done.

“You’ll do just fine, my boy. I’m sure of it. You always do.” The praise rings hollow, even to Harry’s ears. He takes a breath, wanting to say more, but then Eggsy nods and takes a step back. The words - whatever they were - die on Harry’s tongue.

“Sure. Right. Thanks.” He hesitates, then, glancing up at Harry and for a second there is so much anger in usually laughing green eyes that it startles Harry. “Y’know what, Harry, ya just…” But he stops, trailing off, and the fire dies. Eggsy shakes his head. “Nevermind. I can get home myself, yeah? Night, Harry.”

Harry has never felt so old as he does right then. Eggsy walking away from him, and yet he knows if he just says something, anything, the boy he loves will come back, will put his arms around Harry and give him his everything, all wrapped up in a smile. And Harry can only feel old because he might be many things, many very good things, but he is not capable of properly courting a boy like Eggsy, nor capable of properly loving him, either.

So he swallows the pain, tells himself being Eggsy’s friend, a very close friend even, is enough. Even though it never really is. He doesn’t like to think about what happens when Eggsy gets tired of fawning over an old man and finds someone who can give him the future he deserves.

He turns to go and shut the music off, lifting the needle off the record. In the next instant, the silence is filled with Eggsy’s angry voice.

“Yer a fuckin’ coward, Harry Hart!”

Harry straightens, staring at Eggsy first in the mirror, then turning around to meet his eyes. The young man narrows them and stalks closer. Harry has the ridiculous urge to scramble backwards. A gentleman spy does not run from mouthy 24 year olds. Even deadly trained assassin 24 year olds.

“I beg you’re - ” He doesn’t get a chance to finish.

“You ain’t beg nothin’. Shut up and listen for once!” Eggsy is standing in front of him now, chin lifted in defiance, looking for all the world like he thinks he is ten feet tall and bulletproof. It’s a posture Harry is _very_ familiar with. “You’re a coward, a flippin’ elite super spy and yet when it comes to me, you might as well be JB, hiding under the bed, scared of the thunder when it storms!”

Harry tries to be insulted, but some part of him is more amused than offended. It’s a cute picture and he just bets that when JB runs and hides, Eggsy is there to soothe him and coax him out with treats and soft pets and then cuddles under the covers with him the whole night. Harry would not mind a similar treatment, to be honest. Still, he makes sure none of the amusement shows on his face, else he’ll be facing a genuinely homicidal little man and he’s seen - hell, he taught - what Eggsy can do when he’s feeling particularly dangerous.

“Just...what is it? Huh, Harry? Is it me? Ya want me, but not enough? Am I just a little niggle under yer skin, not enough to bother with? Just ignore it, huh?”

The amusement is abruptly gone, because Eggsy hides nothing and Harry can see how much the idea of not being worth it hurts him. His boy is a beautiful open book, and Harry can see it all.

“Eggsy, that’s not…”

Again he’s cut off. Eggsy has Things To Say, it seems, and Harry isn’t allowed to interrupt yet. Or at all, he’s not sure.

“Don’t tell me it’s not that. Because if you _do_ feel like I feel, like I’m a craving under your fucking skin, a taste you can’t get out of your mouth, a...a _need_ so fuckin’ strong you’d maybe kill for just a little of it...that’s even worse, Harry. Cause that’s what you are to me and how _dare_ you feel that way and deny both of us out of some bullshit noble martyr syndrome nobody asked ya for!”

Harry swallows hard, throat thick. He’d suspected, of course he had, known Eggsy felt things, wanted him maybe, maybe more, but...he hadn’t known. Not that Eggsy feels that, all those things that, yes, crawl around inside Harry’s veins like an itch, a clawing, a fix he’s never going to get.

Eggsy rakes a hand through his hair, mussing it even more. “Can you be honest with me, just once? Can you?”

Harry nods faintly. Then again, more decisively. “Yes.”

Pained green eyes peer up at him. “Do you love me, Harry?”

And for all the omissions, the diversions, the changing of subjects and other techniques to dance around having to admit anything _real_ , Harry cannot bald faced lie to this boy.

But he doesn’t know the words, for once in his life, to explain any of it - the lies, the walls, the denial for so long. So he does the only thing he can think of which is to haul Eggsy into his arms and finally take those gorgeous, pink lips and make them his own.

It turns out holding Eggsy is a lot like trying to hold lightning in your hands. He’s wild and hot and impossible to contain. He tastes like heaven and, yeah, home, just like Harry’d suspected. Feared, even. Because now that he’s got it, tasted it, letting it sink into his fucking skin...he’s never going to let Eggsy go. And he’s still not sure whether that is a good thing or not.

Eggsy, on the other hand, seems to think it’s the best idea anyone has ever had. For now, Harry’s just going to trust Eggsy and...follow his lead.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as always for reading! You can find me on Tumblr at [Faedreamer](http://faedreamer.tumblr.com) where my ask is always open for prompts, headcanons and general flailing. Come say hello!


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